Chasing the Nightmares Away
by Benny The Crazed Cartoonist
Summary: On one of his insomnia-induced excursions, Scrooge finds he's not the only one awake in the mansion. Alternately: "I used to be scared of the dark too. But I've got glowey stars on the ceiling." Pre-Show. Ducktales 2017.


**Here we go again.**

**As usual, edited in about fifteen seconds. I don't own Ducktales or else these two would definitely get a friendship-development montage episode. **

* * *

Insomnia was no stranger to Scrooge McDuck. In fact, it visited him so often these days that Scrooge began to welcome it like an old friend. Of course, he would tuck himself into bed and turn out the lights like any regular duck, but two hours later would see him wandering the halls of his vast estate, housecoat and pure feathers glinting so white in the moonlight that once he'd caught a glimpse of his spectral form in a mirror and thought for certain his house was haunted.

Alas, no amount of tea or music or melatonin offered relief, so haunt he did.

Over time, Scrooge started to see the beauty in his nightly escapades. The way the house creaked and settled around him made him feel like he was never truly alone, and the way the moonlight patterned his piles of adventure memorabilia took him back years ago when he scoured dark temples and caves, searching for these very artefacts. Ah, to be young and globetrotting again. If he strained his limited imagination enough, he could almost picture crumbling rock instead of the mahogany shine of his mansion walls. On nice nights, he might take a book outside and sit on the grounds, perhaps dip his feet in the pool, and read until either his eyes finally began to droop or the sun made itself known on the horizon.

More than often, it was the latter.

But insomnia didn't bother him, he enjoyed the brief bouts of reminiscence. And solitude. Nobody was ever up in the wee hours of the morning as he drifted through the house on silent feet.

Or, at least, nobody _should_ be.

So why was the spare room light on?

This bit of the mansion was a dead space, in the opposite wing from his own quarters and decently far from the servants' rooms (a moot point, Beakley went to bed hours ago). He didn't even use this area for storage. What possible reason could there be for the light to be on?

Unless.

Unless there was an intruder in the house.

Scrooge's arms raised involuntarily, fists flexing. Curse his kilts, of _course_ he would have left his cane halfway across the mansion this evening. Stealth, then, not brute force. He slid forward along the wall, barely daring to breathe, and set one hand gingerly on the doorknob. Turning it couldn't have taken more than five seconds, but to him it felt like an eternity. With the door open a crack, Scrooge risked a peek into the spare room. And then opened the door wide, clenched beak growing slack.

The room, empty last time he'd ventured inside, certainly wasn't anymore. Drawings and charts covered the walls, some stuck through with arrows. The bookshelf practically overflowed, and he prepared to get angry at the theft from his library until he realized he didn't recognize a single title. A desk sat against the far wall, barely visible beneath mountains of newspapers and craft supplies. Stacks of coloured markers and bundles of red string covered the majority of the floor, alongside a surprising amount of medieval weaponry. Not a soul in sight, though Scrooge knew with certainty that someone had made themselves quite at home in this room.

He ventured in a step, scanning the surroundings for signs of life. "Hello?"

_There!_ Scrooge halfway thought he imagined the intake of breath, faint as it was, but he strode to the bottom of the ladder pressed against the bookshelf and looked up. Not another sound from the loft, but it was the deliberate, heavy sort of silence that someone made when desperately trying to pretend they weren't there.

"I can hear ye," he growled, pulling himself up the first rung. Cor, he hadn't been on an ladder for almost... well, too long anyway. "Time to come out, ye can't..." his voice trailed off as he popped his head into the loft. "...hide."

Across from him, staring wide-eyed and curled into a tight pink and white ball, trembled Webbigail.

Ah, of course. That explained the clutter downstairs, and the evidence of life. Stood to reason that a six year old child would want her own room...

Curse his _kilts_, this was her _room!_ "Ah! Oh, I'm sorry Webbigail, I didn't mean to intrude!" Scrooge immediately moved to climb back down the ladder.

"No, wait!"

He paused, glancing back at her. And only then did he see the tear streaks drying on the feathers of her cheeks.

His grip tightened on the ladder rung. Scrooge McDuck considered himself well-versed in many things, from language to folklore, but he'd be the first to admit he hadn't a _clue_ what to do when it came to a crying child. And Webbigail fixed him with such a _stare_, a desperation like nothing he'd seen in a long time, he couldn't just go now that she'd seen him! What to do, what to do...

Scrooge forced his lungs to take air, release. Calm down. It was just like solving a mystery. Gather the facts, form a solution from there. Fact one: it was far too early in the morning for a child to be awake.

"What are ye doin' up, lassie?"

She sniffled, wouldn't meet his eyes. "No reason."

Scrooge frowned at the lie. Well, no one ever said mysteries were easy. Slowly, carefully, he pulled himself up the last few rungs and settled on the loft floor, legs dangling into the room below. Fact two: she lied, and there was a reason for that. A secret? Something embarrassing? Did he want to know?

If it was enough to bring her to tears, he didn't have much of a choice.

"Come, now," try as he might to soften his Scottish brogue, the words still sounded rough and angry compared to her tone. "Surely it must be something. Can't sleep?"

Webbigail hid her face in her folded arms and gave her head the tiniest shake.

"Had a nightmare, perhaps?"

Another hesitation, and then a nod.

Ah ha, now he was getting somewhere. Fact three: Webbigail had a nightmare and couldn't go back to sleep. But why? Fact four: she hadn't immediately gone to Beakley.

"Did you... go see yer granny?"

Webbigail's muffled "no" practically vanished in the folds of her nightgown.

Tread carefully, don't scare her. Deliberate pause... "Why not?" Scrooge was getting very good at all this 'compassion' and 'sensitivity' stuff.

Finally, Webbigail raised her head to look at him. "...because she wants me to be brave."

Fact five: she was afraid of something. The nightmare, obviously, but there must be something more to that, otherwise her lights wouldn't all be on at who knows when in the morning... ah.

Realization dawned like the sun, and Scrooge tried to keep the self-satisfied glow out of his chest. "Yer scared of the dark."

Webbigail nodded, eyes welling up again.

His pride at _ha, I solved the mystery, _vanished at the sight and he reached forward out of habit. Instantly seeing it as an invitation, the girl surged forward and wrapped him in an astonishingly tight squeeze before he could protest, clinging to him like a life raft. His mind raced. Facts gathered, one mystery solved, and now onto the next one.

_What do I do?_

First order of business, _get her off him_. Scrooge gently prised the sniffling girl off his chest (she'd _better not have _gotten mucus on his housecoat!) and held her carefully by the shoulders at arm's length. Second order, find a solution to the problem, one that could preferably keep this from happening in the future...

A memory floated to the top of the ocean that was his mind, and a wide grin stretched across his beak. Of course! No lie, he deserved the claim of 'smartest of the smarties'! He patted Webbigail on the head, offering a little comfort (he hoped) as well as getting her attention. "Come along, dear, let's go down to the kitchen to see if we can't find you something warm to drink to chase the nightmares away."

She searched his face, understandably confused, before taking his offered hand and clambering down the ladder. She didn't let go all the way to the kitchen and, for some odd, inconceivable reason, Scrooge found he didn't mind so much. After he'd settled her at the table with a cup of hot chocolate, he went about rifling through the junk drawers, muttering under his breath. He knew he'd put them here somewhere...

"What are you looking for?" Webbigail piped up. Scrooge quashed a smile at the hot chocolate moustache covering her beak.

"A present I put here a while back," he tried to shut the drawer, only to be thwarted by a particularly misshapen spoon. Growling, he shoved other knick knacks aside to make room and tried again. This time it closed easily. Whether it opened again or not was no longer his problem.

"A present?"

Move to the next drawer. Tear his tartan, there was more junk in here than in the last one! "Aye, I bought it for~" pain stabbed through his ribs like an unexpected kick, and his throat closed up. Scrooge leaned against the counter for a second and tried to get his breath back. "... well, doesn't matter who it might have been for. I think they might help you... ah ha!" Triumph trumped grief as he lifted the box from its nest among wires and screws. Victory!

Webbigail hopped off her stool and peered up at the box. "What are those?"

"You'll see. Finish your hot chocolate."

Obediently, Webbigail drained the rest of her drink, set the mug in the sink, and the two of them padded back through the silent house to her bedroom. Only then did Scrooge surrender the box to her impatient hands. The delighted beam on her face was more than worth the wait.

"Glowey stars!"

"Aye, the best kind of night light." And cheap! Glow in the dark pain meant less electricity spent on other night lights. Ah, Scrooge, what a genius. "Here, we'll put some right in the middle of yer room, here, see? Then they'll light up everything. And we'll put some more above your bed, to protect ye from nightmares later. How does that sound?"

Her face said it all.

By the time the two of them hung the last of the glowey stars above her bed, Scrooge shrewdly noticed Webbigail fighting yawns. He turned down her covers and gestured to the bed with one hand. "Here, you get in and I'll turn off the lights so we can see how well they work."

The lights snapped off, and the stars glowed like a dream.

Webbigail's eyes, barely visible in the dim light, shone with happiness. And then began to droop. Scrooge took this as his cue to exit stage left, and eased himself onto the first rung of the ladder quietly as he could. No use waking her now, when she needed her sleep. She was a growing duckling, after all.

Second rung. So far so good.

The third rung squeaked under his weight.

"Mr. McDuck?"

Ah, cripes. Scrooge peeked his head through the hole to the loft again. "Aye?"

The mound on the bed that was Webbigail shifted, though now it was too dark to see her face. "Do you need some glowey stars too?"

The question took him by surprise. Scrooge found himself working his beak for a moment, trying to make sense of her words. "I... I'm sorry?"

Her voice, wavering as it was by drowsiness, barely reached his ears. "Are you afraid of the dark too? Do you need some glowey stars to keep your nightmares away?"

Oh.

Oh, bless her soul.

Scrooge's face softened for what felt like the first time in centuries. "No, child. I'm afraid glowey stars won't help me."

"Oh." A beat. "I hope you find what helps you. Granny says everyone needs sleep."

Of course she does. "She's right. And don't you worry about me, I'll be fine."

He waited for a response, but the only sound in the room belonged to Webbigail's steady breaths. Scrooge allowed himself a smile, then climbed down the ladder and shut the door to her room.

Alone again.

For some reason, it didn't seem quite as relaxing as usual.

He started back down the halls towards the library, fully intending to read until the sun showed its smug face, but a yawn split his head.

Bless his bagpipes, when had he started to feel so _tired?_

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Scrooge couldn't remember all that he'd dreamed in the night (at his age he rarely could) but he felt there was the distinct sound of light-hearted laughter, and the glow of a thousand plastic stars in the sky.

_**END**_


End file.
